


Opus

by tukimecca



Category: World Trigger
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Genderbending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:29:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8671102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tukimecca/pseuds/tukimecca
Summary: World Trigger Fic-dump with multiple pairings-Arafune and Hokari. Meet-cute (?) at The Gym.





	1. In prayer, silence

**Author's Note:**

> I have so many watori short fics idea and rather than letting them sit there lonely and abandoned, why not post them one by one because we clearly need more fanfic in this fandom. And please do excuse me for all I'm capable of writing is depressive thing when it comes to certain pairing(s), and shameless fluff for the other. Very, very self indulgent.
> 
> If you want a watori-friend to talk to, hit me anytime at bosamiwa @ tumblr or ketiakjonghyun @ twitter ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Do you even love me at all?' Is lodged inside your throat like a bile rising but you swallow them down (the same way you swallow your tears) and kiss me instead; messy, angry.

_'Do you even love me at all?'_ Is lodged inside your throat like a bile rising but you swallow them down (the same way you swallow your tears) and kiss me instead; messy, angry.  
  
And I accept them; your anger, your agony, your frustration, your pain, your tears, salty and wet on your porcelain cheeks. I lick kiss the trail it left, silver and glistening, it tastes like you, and you shudder, clinging on me like a petal on withering flower. I don't want to let go but I have to,  
  
"Don't," you whisper. I feel the heat rise from beneath your skin, curdling thick in your veins, rushing to your cheeks which I kiss again in attempt to cool it down. You call my name, almost, because I smother your voice (your emotion-thick, broken voice) with my own lips, swallowing whimper-turned-call the very same way I swallow my own regret,  
  
"Shuuji," I whisper back, tightening my hold around your waist. My other hand is twisting your hair mirroring your own hands on my hair. Your answer is muffled groan but even then it falls loud and clear in my ears; _Jin_ , my name. I smile in between our kisses; smile because my name sounds so lovely coming out from your lips in that equally lovely timbre of yours.  
  
Then we will fall, apart, broken, undone, you're my unbecoming as much as I am yours. As I scale the map on your skin with my lips, I wonder how many times had it been since we're cluttered in each other's embrace like this; free and unbound. Unwounded from any emotion but pleasure and pain, and my name is endless prayer spilling from your abused lips, and I  
  
'Don't cry,' I say in my mind, watching the way tears after tears paint yet another track on your skin. A strange surge of possessiveness that overtook me can only be described as illogical. It angers me to see anything other than me leaving mark on your skin. So instead I growl, animalistic and inhuman, "Mine," before claiming your lips once again. These lips of our, let it utter name only mine, let it call name only mine, let it pleads to name only mine, let it,  
  
"Jin,” you moan with urgency, this time, and pleasure. Pleasure as deep and profound as this passion that burns scorching hot under my skin. “Jin.”  
  
“Shuuji,” I answer. I call back. I pray, in your name and for you name, that one day, one day we can truly melt together into one, in joy and happiness. In love; with love. Free from the chains of karma that is binding us together now. “Shuuji.”  
  
I pray, I beg, that as much as scars I will leave on your skin, you’ll bleed, and in those dark blood that is as thick as the pleasure that paints your body in feverish scarlet color, there will be the anger that torments you, there will be the hatred that cripples you.  
  
If hurting you is what it takes to liberate you from them, then no matter how many times, I’d do, oh so happily. If breaking you is what it takes to unshackle you from those ugly cuffs of grudge, then break you again and again, I would. And if loving you, like this, this raw and visceral, this greedy and blind-  
  
“Yuuichi…san…”  
  
_I love you_ , my kiss says. _I love you_ , my fingers swear.  
  
_I love you_ , my heart vows. But my lips, they could never utter. Not even a single whisper. Not even the faintest of sound.  
  
_I love you_ , in my head, I cry. But these lips of mind could never move. These lips of mind could never spell.  
  
_And 'Do you even love me at all?'_ , your own sea of opulent red begs. And my sea of startling blue prays, with as much fervor as this affection that reverberates in my bones, for them to be able to express what my words cannot.  
  
“Shuuji…”  
  
You close your eyes. I bid goodbye to that everlasting twilight.  _I love you_ , I press another kiss to your neck, right on your pulse point, then once again I pray, more sincere than any other prayers I’ve made, for this beat to last forever.


	2. All Clouds are Rolling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Inukai heard Kageura has been demoted, he’s startled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KageInu, anyone???

When Inukai heard Hatohara disappeared, he’s stunned.

When Inukai heard Kageura has been demoted, he’s startled.

When Inukai heard from Azuma-san that Kageura has been demoted for punching Netsuki-san who had apparently run his mouth where he didn’t belong about Hatohara, Inukai forgets how your respiratory system is supposed to work.

When Inukai sees Kageura for the first time since he has been demoted for allegedly punching Netsuki-san in an act that could only be interpreted as defending the little remaining of Hatohara’s honor (even though a logical part of himself tells him it’s for Yuzuru’s sake. Not for them. Not for him. Will _never_ ever be for him), Inukai abandons all his ration and throws himself all over the suspecting Kagura.

When Inukai kisses Kageura, wet and messy, teeth clicking together, noses bumping, _and, aww, Kageura just bit him_ , he doesn’t remember anything but the scorching heat of Kageura’s body temperature and the way his fingers are tightly curled on the fabric of Kageura’s jacket.

When Inukai cries, big, fat tears falling unforgivingly from his cloudy-blue eyes, he can hears his own voice; _thank you, I’m sorry, thank you_.

When Kageura, _finally_ , grabs the back of his blonde head roughly and shoves his head to the crook of his neck, Inukai lets himself crumbles all over the floor.


	3. This? This is Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another reason why Kageura wants to have an audience with God; he will demand them to explain why must they give Inukai, out of all people, the luscious blond locks that reminds Kageura of that female Hollywood actress who’s touted to be the owner of the most beautiful hair on earth.
> 
> Oh, Jennifer, she is a lovely, lovely Lady.
> 
> Inukai is not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't you tell how EXCITED am I with this pairing? I 'blame' my dear, lovely Nayung who had infected me with this deliciously adorable and equally sinful pairing. If you happened to stumble upon this, I hope you enjoy(?) this, and, GOD, do forgive me! This wasn't supposed to be steamy at all, but, eh, look at where my wondering thought got me ;)
> 
> I'm not sorry I made Kageura a bumbling (horny) idiot, though.
> 
> btw, I'm ALMOST at the end of my secret santa (which had somehow exploded into 23k words,and, what???), hopefully I can finish it before the deadline.

Kageura Masato doesn’t believe in God, but if he does, he’d personally drag them from their throne in heaven to hell.

Because this is not funny.

If Kageura Masato believes in God, like any other people. And just like any other people, he’d pray to God to fix whatever mess their sick sense of joke decided to pull on him, because, clearly; _this_ is not funny.

Or maybe, if Kageura Masato believes in God, he will threat them to grant his prayer or he will personally drag them to hell.

A small voice in his head supplies him that God is not the one at fault. It was, as always (and Kageura can almost hear the angry growl of a certain young captain), Neighbor’s fault.

But Neighbor and Kageura too are mortal creation of God. Some people said every living being on earth is God’s messenger. So, in the end, God bears the responsibility for making this happening at all through borrowing Neighbor’s act.

_Stupid, Stupid, God._

But Kageura has no other choice than believing them now in this situation, isn’t it? There is no greater power than God, they said. Nobody can conjure miracle than God, they said. And even though he’d not admit it, not in million years, he is _that_ desperate to the point he just wants to blitz of to the nearest church, or temple, or any existing religious site where God is said to reside, and beg on his knees for God to fix _this, because this is not funny, at all, you stupid, God!_

If you, who are reading this, or happened to possess a side-effect that enables you to hear Kageura’s mind (though chances are you are the former than the later), to be confused is normal reaction to this narration. After all, nobody has explained what happened, or rather; what is _this._

Before we go to _this_ , first I’d like to remind you that Kageura might have claimed that he prefers personality over appearance when looking for prospective lover. But by no means had Kageura stated he doesn’t have certain inclination when it comes to appearance.

Spun-gold hair and bright blue for eyes. Fair, porcelain skin that’s almost translucent, and a row of neat, white teeth. In short, Kageura finds someone who resembles mid-summer sky pleasing to the eyes.

And it just happened that Inukai Sumiharu possesses all those wonderful, wonderful qualities. And just to get it straight, it is the ‘quality’ that is wonderful, not Inukai himself. _F you_ , Kageura would spat resentfully if you know you mistook the two.

Another reason why Kageura wants to have an audience with God; he will demand them to explain why must they give Inukai, out of all people, the luscious blond locks that reminds Kageura of that female Hollywood actress who’s touted to be the owner of the most beautiful hair on earth.

Oh, Jennifer, she is a lovely, _lovely_ Lady.

Inukai is not.

 _Or,_ maybe Inukai can make a lovely _lady_.

Kageura wants to die. After he makes sure whoever thinks _this_ is a good idea suffers, even in their grave.

Does Trion Soldier have grave, anyways?

 _Anyways_ , back to _this; this_ isn’t funny at all. From scale one to ten, it’s minus billion. Heck, Netsuki’s long-ass lecture about ‘How to be (act as) a Good Border Agent in Front of Public’ is hundred times funnier. _This_ , on the other hand, wouldn’t even make the easily amused Yoneya laugh, let alone crack a smile. It is that _not_ funny.

That voice who had said it wasn’t God’s fault, treacherously says that Yoneya will find this _funny_. He’d laugh so hard until his stomach spasm and his jaw literally falling to the floor. Probably, he will even end up with fitness magazine-worthy six packs for how much the muscle in his stomach contracts, except it is not scientific at all.

So, _maybe_ , other agents will find this hilarious, but Kageura is not other agents. He has shark-like teeth and troublesome (annoying, irritating, frustrating) side-effect. He doesn’t know there’s anyone whose family runs an _okonomiyaki_ restaurant. And he is most likely the only person in Border who loathes Inukai Sumiharu with intensity of burning sun. Therefore, he doesn’t find this funny, not at all.

If you have come this far, you might be pulling your hair in frustration, or tapping your leg on the floor impatiently, because there is yet to be any explanation of what is _this_.

What is _this_ that exasperated Kageura so much that he’s hell-bent in hauling God to mend this absurdity?

Oh, yes, _this_ is absolute madness. An insane, ludicrous catastrophe.

“Relax, it’s not like the world is ending,” the source of all evil and Kageura’s infuriation, Inukai _fucking_ Sumiharu dares saying.

The thing is, _this_ is worse than holocaust and Armageddon combined.

He is exaggerating. He is one hundred percent aware of it, just like he’s aware he might have unintentionally offended people who had suffered from actual holocaust (my deepest and most sincere apology, you didn’t deserve that). But Kageura begs for understanding, try to stand on his shoes and imagine how does it feel when the person whom you write to fill in the answer to question ‘ _things you do not like’_ , suddenly transfer into your – excuse him – walking wet dream.

Because _that_ is what Inukai has become. _Fuck my life_ , Kageura bemoans his abysmal luck.

Inukai embodies summer to the t. Long, rich, molten-gold hair that cascades down his softening shoulder. Glimmering, clear blue eyes that draws Kageura in like when he looks at clean-water Sea. Rose-tinted, peaches and cream, smooth skin. Pearly white teeth peeking from between cherry-red lips.

Add a pair of rounded chest that threaten to spill from her shirt.  _Good Lord,_ how could anybody’s chest be that big you cannot actually button your shirt?

Kageura’s mind has been reduced into tiny, little, micro particles. Like the cold pill that his father had grinded for him on the mortar when Kageura was little. Nobody can know Kageura cannot drink pill until puberty hits him like freight-car. Nobody.

“Fuck you,” Kageura can only muster, desperately trying to hide his flaming face using his trusty mask.

He tries to scoot away from Inukai but there’s hardly any room left in this broom closet, and he swears he’ll murder Arafune in his wake and in his sleep. Preferably after he slaughters Touma and Hokari who had lend their hands as well. Then, he’d make a personal visit to God’s chamber and make him fix _this._

 _This_ being Inukai (and the rest of Ninomiya squad) finding their bodies have been turned into female’s after a nasty explosion of foreign Trion Soldier.

That ever so stoic and uptight Ninomiya has become a girl as well. So is poor, poor Tsuji (who had immediately fainted and is yet to gain consciousness after realizing he basically materialized into his worst nightmare).

Actually, it’s none of Kageura’s concern. Not until Shinoda-san declared it shall be the concern of Border as a whole, and held an emergency meeting attended by A Class and B Class captains. The unfortunate Ninomiya Squad members sans Tsuji were brought out as example, and Tachikawa had probably dislocated a rib or two from laughing too much.

Red-faced and teary-eyed Ninomiya has sworn to camp in Laboratory until the cure is found. Kazama has probably dislocated Tachikawa’s bones for real by giving him a flying kick (when none of the adult was looking, sneaky, sneaky Kazama) for ‘ _hurting a lady’s heart’_.

Inukai had been unaffected, smiling that dazzling (blinding, not in a good way, but in a literal _rob-you-of-your-sight_ blind) smile of his, and casually approach his friends. Her breast jiggled whenever she walked and Kageura would have bolted out of the door to – _ahem_ – get rid of the suddenly forming trouble in his pants, if it wasn’t for Arafune’s unforgiving iron-grip on his wrist.

He had never despised Hokari as much as he did then for teaching Arafune the most effective way of getting muscle without sacrificing your sleep, study, or Border duty.

Wait, he might hates Hokari even more now that he had contributed in making Kageura ended up in this god-forsaken situation.

 _Help!_ His mind screeched when Arafune had literally drag him until he’s face to face with Inukai’s – _sorry, mom_ – breast.

Kageura had stared, like any normal eighteen years old boy in the face of his waking wet-dream, he _stared_ , straight at Inukai’s newfound ample chest. _Damn,_ they’re definitely bigger than Kunichika’s, he thought Kunichika’s already big. He didn’t think he could see anyone’s breast get any bigger than hers.

“Like what you see?”Arafune’s voice came to him like thunderstorm. Thunder indeed, because Kageura immediately jerked back like he had been electrocuted, except Arafune’s fingers were still clasped firmly around his wrist with absolute zero intention of letting go like a leech that had latched itself on its prey’s skin.

“???????????” Kageura had failed to produce any proper sound, and just hung his mouth open with face as red as Arashiyama’s jacket as he shot a look that could wither an entire rose garden at Arafune.

The sniper-turned-attacker who is obsessed over Hollywood action film but cannot swim to save his life just grinned like he had won a million dollar, or maybe won himself an invitation to attend the premiere of Marvel’s next installment (Kageura _loves_ Iron Man, okay? He’s #teamironman all the way!), upon seeing Kageura’s reaction.

The said boy faintly remembered how he had told Arafune he preferred his girl to have blue eyes and blond hair while sighing over the picture of Pepper Potts, who should be a red-head, but, _hey_ , she made a dreamy blond in Iron Man 3. And, Inukai might not resemble Ms. Potts in any way, but he – _she?_ – is just as dreamy, if not on the erotic-dream side than the _dreamy-_ dream side.

Her – _his?_ – breast, though, Kageura must admit, even more bloody fantastic than Ms. Potts. Kageura swore he’d personally apologize to the print of Ms. Potts he kept in his bedside drawer.

He refuses to tell you why he has a print of Ms. Potts in his bedside drawer.

“I guess he likes it,” Arafune beamed at Inukai who beamed back, and, _fuck_ , she practically shone like rising sun, and Kageura was momentarily blinded, he had to look away. Other than because he wasn’t sure if he could stare at Inukai any longer while maintaining a straight face – or gaze, it kept on wondering down to a dangerous territory.

_God, are those real breast??????_

“I was worried, but I figured if I was to be turned a girl, might as well be a cute one so I can enjoy myself,” Inukai said cheerfully. “You guys can call me ‘Haru-chan’ until I return to my real body!”

“Okay, Haru-chan, we will take care of you, don’t worry.” Arafune complied with a grin.

Kageura mentally screamed; _fucking Haru-chan!?!??!_

Long story short, Arafune then dragged unwilling Kageura, who was practically stoned and has started to develop symptoms akin to Tsuji Shinnosuke’s when he faced a girl, and Inukai ‘Haru-chan’ to his Squad Room. He apparently had called the other 18 years old agents. When they arrived there, they met Kitazoe who was waiting until Kagami – or whoever inside – open the door for him.

Fast forward to Kageura being teased endlessly hell and back by unforgiving Touma, who had probably been infected by Narasaka Tooru’s sadism, for his reaction at girl-turned Inukai. Kageura could have vomited at the myriads of emotion that continued to prickle his skin. The only thing stopping him was the fact he was still too stunned to even react properly.

Fast forward again, and here they are; Inukai and Kageura locked inside random closet in Arafune Squad’s room with barely any room left between them.

Inukai, thankfully, is not situated between his legs, because, God knows what would happen if she – _he? She? Haru-chan?_ – was there. Kageura desperately presses his legs together in attempt to hide the stirring traitorous part of his body and to put a distance between them.

It’s vain, he knows. Even more when Inukai doesn’t seem to fancy there to be any gap between them. _Her_ emotion pricks his skin, leaves a weird tingle that Kageura insists is not pleasant.

Nor arousing. Not at all.

Inukai _fucking_ leans on his side. _Fucking,_ okay, so maybe it _is_ arousing.

He suddenly regrets his decision of not activating his trigger before attending the meeting. If he was in his trion body, he wouldn’t be giving these reactions either. All the more reason why Kageura wanted to have an audience with God and beat him to fix this mess.

“Hey,” Inukai calls, her voice sounds too close for Kageura’s comfort.

The attacker only grunts in response because it is impossible to ignore her and pretends she doesn’t exist like he usually do in their current position.

“Relax, you’re acting like I’d jump on you or something when it should be the other way around,” she giggles this time, and Kageura wants to implode when he realizes he is thinking along the line of; _does her breast jiggle when she laughs?_

Kageura doesn’t want to implode. Kageura wants to die. After killing Arafune, and Hokari, and Touma, that’s it. And God, God, too.

“Still, I can’t believe Kou-chan actually let them do this to us. Good chance to make up, eh, he said?”

A hot blade of betrayal stabs Kageura at the mention of Kou.

It skewers his heart hotly when he remembers how Kou just watched as Hokari and Touma manhandled him and Inukai to the closet. What happened to his precious, beloved Kou? Does he is really left with no one to trust with himself? Even Zoe wasn’t even trying to stop them at all.

Kageura sniffs behind his mask, dejected. Kuga, he still has Kuga. Kuga would help him.

On second thought, Kuga is actually incarnation of evil. He would probably not help Kageura at all because he, with no doubt, finds the situation amusing.

That’s it, he doesn’t have anyone or anything left in this world to protect himself with except his darling, treasured Trigger.

“Come on, cheer up. When the time comes, they’ll let us out. Beside, you’re stuck in a closet with a cute, sexy girl like me, you should at least appreciate that,” Inukai, _Haru-chan_ , says. This time, Kageura feels genuine sympathy and concern skittering down his skin.

“Who’d be happy to be stuck with stupid dog like you,” he growls, when in fact his mind is doing that unmanly flailing again as Inukai suddenly clutches the fabric of Kageura’s sweater. Imaginary Kageura flounders like fish out the water. Actual Kageura stiffens and whimpers at the same time like he’s been doused with icy water.

The prick on his skin tells him Inukai is _smirking_. Sympathy transforms into something else Kageura dares not to discern, slithering and raising goosebumps on his over sensitized skin. The touch of emotion leaves a burning sensation, scorching hot, licking a fire in the pit of his stomach; setting a slumbering part of him alive.

If you ask him later, he would not remember who moved first. It could be him, and it could have been _her._  The order is the last thing on their mind as they crash their lips together, Kageura hissing into the kiss while Inukai moans loudly.

In the confined space, they wrestle for dominance, but it’s ultimately Kageura’s win in the end, ravaging Inukai’s lips after he had managed to shift around and positioned the girl-turned-boy on his laps, one hand fastened in her silky, golden tresses, and another one sneaking under her too-tight shirt.

Kageura kisses her like he’d die without, changing their angles now and then, alternating between deep, breath-taking kisses and chaste, unhurried presses of lips. Inukai is pliant, willing body in his hold, her soft hands clinging into Kageura’s shoulder for support. She sighs in between the kisses, hot breath tickling Kageura’s bruised lips just like her arousal that pierces his sweltering skin.

“Kage,” she mewls when Kageura’s hand has wondered to cup her ample breast, weighing it in his palm. “Fuck, just-“

“Just what?” Kageura swoops down to nips the tender skin of her neck. Inukai whines at the joined sensation on her neck and the way Kageura’s fondles her breast through the fabric. “ _Fuck_ , you are really _huge_ ,” he breathes in wonder.

Above him, Inukai laughs, wind-chime in August sky. “Right? At least those Neighbors are good for somethi- Nn!”

Kageura experimentally pinches her nipples, mouth hanging open at _did I really do that?_ And _did she really make that noise_? Because, _damn_ , he is really not going to take responsibility of what’s going to happen later in Arafune Squad’s closet.

It’s all Arafune’s own fault. He is not taking the blame, not at all. After all, he is clearly the victim in this. Not only finding the guy he hates with the passion of burning sun suddenly turning into his literal wet-dream, he was also subjected to violence by his people who claimed themselves to be his friends (manhandling is _clearly_ a form of violence), and shoved to a small, cramped closet with limited supply of oxygen with the said guy-now-a-girl he hates.

So, yes, he is not going to take any responsibility. Screw Arafune. Screw them. Screw God, even. He should be the one to take the responsibility by fixing _this_ , but he doesn’t. And Kageura might said he prefers personality over look, but he is a healthy 18 years old boy who doesn’t deny when a chance to make out with the girl in his dream (even if just the appearance, not the actual person)come to visit.

“Kage,” Inukai whines, pressing her all-too-warm body closer to Kageura’s own burning one. He swears, latches his lips on her neck and bites down, fingers mercilessly playing with her breast through the suddenly offending piece of cloth.

Seriously, whoever thought giving Inukai clothes is legal at all? It should be forbidden. Her – _his???_ – body is too beautiful to be kept from the rest of the world.

On the second thought. Kageura finds himself actually hating the idea of anyone other than him seeing Inukai’s body at all. So, maybe, Inukai wearing clothes is not illegal, at least when he’s not around.

“I guess the neighbor is useful for something at once, eh, stupid dog?” Kageura smirks, nipping the newly opened Scar on her skin. He had bitten that spot hard enough to draw blood. He’s about to lick the droplets of blood that start to ooze out when she suddenly grinds down on his laps. Kageura swears, feeling his cock jumping in under his pants.

Inukai roughly pulls on his hair, jerking his face up until they’re nose to nose, eye to eye, but not lips to lips. Her blue eyes are dark and lidden, pupils blown wide from pleasure, but Kageura can see myriads of blue swirling together in those captivating azure, and in the darkness of the closet, her golden hair glows like fireflies dancing in night sky.

He wonders if it was possible to go numb from being over-stimulated. It’s not only her arousal that makes his skin singing in pleasure, but also her actual touch as her tender flesh makes contact with his body. She grinds down once again, and Kageura’s hands shoot out to grasp on her thighs instinctively, wrapping them around his own waist, bringing his erection close to her inviting heat.

“Fuck you,” he hisses in between his pant, “fuck _this_.”

 _This,_ being Inukai Sumiharu is now the girl in Kageura’s dream. _This_ being the reason why Kageura condemns God and its incompetency for not resolving _this_ sooner. Well, at least the knot in his gut can be – _will_ be – resolved, but that doesn’t even need to happen if God does what it’s supposed to do and grant Kageura’s one and only wish.

See, this is exactly why _this_ is not funny! He is about to fuck the guy he’s supposed to hate more than Miwa Shuuji hates Neighbor, and what if he get pregnant, because he now has female’s body, and; _does he also have a womb???_

 _This_ is serious matter. _This_ is not something to laugh about. _This_ is pure, absolute madness. _This_ is worse than any Nostradamus predictions brewed into one. _This_ is driving Kageura Masato crazy, and maybe he has lost his mind already, because Inukai Sumiharu smirks, and, _fuck_ Inukai Sumiharu and his sunlit golden hair, and startling blue eyes, and his petal-soft, cherry lips, and _her_ impossibly big breast that’s been pressing on Kageura’s chest.

Kageura swears with his entire life that he _hates_ this guy, he’d rather turn himself to the police than doing anything but that.

Apparently, however, as Inukai kisses him once again, hard, long fingers playing with the edge of Kageura’s jeans, Kageura has to really submit himself to the police with murder of his friends.

“Fuck this,” Inukai repeats after him, glowing like burning sun. She unbuttons Kageura’s jeans, licking her lips and with hooded eyes, she says, “well; fuck _me_.”

Kageura Masato doesn’t believe in God, but if he does, he’d personally drag them from their throne in heaven to hell.

Later though, after he is done with _this._


	4. There is Icing on The Cake, and There is You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To be fair, Tachikawa was the last person Jin expected to marry from his circle of friend. Jin didn't expect his wedding-planner would be so young and illegaly beautiful either.
> 
> aka. the baker & wedding planner AU nobody asked but probably need once in their life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was SO! PUMPED! when I wrote this 3 months ago, and I lost my steam just like that. Let's be honest, I'll never finish this but rather than letting it sit around in my google docs, I'd rather post it here.
> 
> Probably sequel? JinMiwa fluff? Are you alright?? Self, you write jinmiwa fluff, are you alright???

To be fair, Tachikawa was the last person Jin expected to marry from his circle of friend. They had gone their separate ways after senior high, Kazama and Arashiyama moved to Tokyo while Tachikawa returned to his home in Kyoto. Jin stayed behind in Mikado, going to local patisserie school because he didn’t have enough money to afford 4 years university and was reluctant to leave his mother behind.

He was lucky that right after graduating, he got himself internship at one of the teacher’s bakery. Mogami Souichi is one of Japan's famous _maître pâtissier_ and happened to be Jin’s favorite teacher for his laidback personality.

Jin was nervous when he applied for the teacher’s internship, but apparently, it was for nothing because right after he was told he got accepted, Mogami-san told him he had taken interest in Jin since he had succeeded in making banana toffee éclair, “it reminded me of the first éclair I made,” Mogami-san confessed.

Mogami-san once worked together with Sadaharu Aoki in France, but stopped after 5 years and returned to his homeland to open his own bakery while working as teacher in his birth-town patisserie school. Despite his stellar achievement, Mogami-san, as Jin called him, is a very low-profile person.

His own bakery is small, named ‘Mogami & Co. Bakery’, located at less populated area in town. His customer demographic is mostly women who live in the area. But behind that, Mogami-san often got calls from higher profile customers, from politician to celebrities. How did he manage to keep his store looking unpopular than it actually is, is beyond Jin. He suspects Mogami-san has pulled some string behind, he got extensive network in world of culinary after all.

Two years ago, Mogami-san decided to leave Japan under the request of his friend, and Jin is left to take care of the business until he is back. So far, Jin is doing well, handling high profile client was difficult as first but he already got the hang of it now, no longer accidentally dropping the phone when a familiar, very famous name introduced themselves as his client.

He was in the middle of finishing his Millefeuille when his phone rang, and it was Tachikawa beyond the line, happily announcing, “I’m getting married!”

Long story short, Tachikawa is getting married to his childhood sweetheart whose existence Jin never heard once in his six years knowing Tachikawa From what he gathered from Tachikawa himself and Kazama-san (whom he called immediately after Tachikawa dropped the phone), Tachikawa’s bride to be, Tsukimi Ren is all sort of perfection. Has won the unofficial university beauty pageant for four consecutive years and was dubbed as _Yamato Nadeshiko_.

Jin almost couldn’t believe his eyes when Tachikawa sent him a picture of Tsukimi. Just what kind of good deed did Tachikawa do in his past life to have a woman as enchantingly beautiful as Tsukimi Ren as his wife?

His surprise aside, Jin agreed to meet Tachikawa and his bride to be today. They promised to arrive after lunch, “before tea time,” Tachikawa had said, because apparently, Tsukimi is religious fan of tea who prefers to have her ‘tea time’ whenever possible. Just in case, Jin has assortments of tea ready at hand, complete with finger food and biscuits.

He has five more minutes until Tachikawa arrives and Jin busies himself by arranging the tartlet display.

Jin almost drops his cake tongs when he hears the bell chimes above him, followed by Tachikawa’s loud, brash voice. “Long time no see, Jin!”

“Tachikawa-san!” The two men meet in one armed hug, laughing on each other’s ears. “It’s been so long! Look at you, ready to get married, eh?” Jin teases, grinning so wide, unable to hide his happiness. After all, Tachikawa had been his favorite senior.

“And you too, you smell like sugar now, Jin! How are you?”

They continue chatting, hitting and slapping each other good-naturedly like they’re back in seventh grade until a cough, rather manly one, stops their friendly banter.

“Excuse me, Tachikawa-san, I hope you remember our purpose here,” the voice says.

Jin blinks then peers behind Tachikawa’s shoulder. The first person he sees is, of course, Tachikawa’s beautiful bride-to-be, Tsukimi Ren. But even her unreal beauty fails to totally captivate Jin upon seeing another person who stands beside her.

The owner of the voice is a boy – or young man is maybe more appropriate. He has ebony black hair that rivals his sleek, black suits, complete with black tie, together, the noir accentuates his porcelain-like skin. They almost glow under the dim light of Jin’s bakery foyer. His limbs are not too long but proportioned nicely to his body, slim yet firm and toned. A black leather messenger black is slung across his shoulder, an equally sleek black clear file tucked under his arms. His shoes are, to Jin’s surprise, as black leather boots instead of dress shoes, toning down the formality of his get-up without making it too casual. But what draws Jin’s attention the most – and steals all oxygen from his lungs – is the pair of amber colored eyes almost hidden beneath the curtain of his silky ink-black hair.

If it wasn’t for Tachikawa standing between them, Jin would have walked over and kiss those rosy colored lips. For now, he could only gape, and wonder if they taste as sweet as the rose icing he just done a couple of hours ago.

“Umm,” Jin stutters. His heart does ineloquent stumble like child trying to walk for the first time. “Hi?”

The boy - young man - ( _fairy, prince, love of his life, his sunshine after the rain_ ) frowns, not looking impressed and utterly, totally lost. Jin feels like a man losing his mission.

“I’m Jin Yuuichi,” he tries again, not taking his eyes away from the disinterested black-haired beauty (not Tsukimi-san). “Nice to meet you.”

His crush ( _wow, that was fast_ ) raises his brows, and, God, he _blushes_ , panting his cheeks in vivid bright of pink, finally realizing that Jin is talking to him - not Tsukimi-san. He averts his gaze shyly, impossibly long lashes shading over his eyes and casting soft shadow on his skin. With quiet voice, he says, “I’m Miwa Shuuji-”

“Our wedding planner!” Tachikawa booms, unaware of the change of demeanor between his best friend and wedding planner. He claps Jin loudly on the back, sending the unaware Jin two steps forward that he almost crashes into Tsukimi if not for his fast reflex. “And this beautiful woman over here is my woman, Tsukimi Ren! She’s pretty, isn’t she?” There’s fondness and unmistakable pride dripping from Tachikawa’s voice like thick, golden honey.

Tsukimi smiles, gentle and elegant. She offers her perfectly manicured hand to Jin and for a moment, he wonders whether she asks him to kiss it or shake it. “I’m Tsukimi Ren, nice to meet you. Tachikawa-kun said so many things about you.”

In the end, Jin goes for old, classic handshake, not sure Tachikawa would appreciate someone touching his beautiful fiancée. “I’m Jin Yuuichi, Tachikawa-san also said a lot about you, Tsukimi-san. You are much prettier than how he described you to be.”

It’s getting harder to believe she is Tachikawa’s fiancée when she covers her cherry-red lips with her delicate hand to hide her giggle. Tachikawa clasps his hand around Tsukimi’s frail looking shoulder and pulls her to his side, grinning proudly. “Of course, Ren is the most beautiful woman in the world!”

“Yes, yes, she is,” Jin agrees. But inside, his mind is busy screaming; _oh no, she’s not_! His eyes are doing an impressive job of not stealing a glance at another black-haired beauty in the room.

Tachikawa prattles on but all Jin can think of is how could a man be _that_ beautiful. It ought to be illegal from how sinful Miwa Shuuji is, just clad in a simple suit, imagines him without; _god damn._ Jin feels a certain anatomy of his body stirs awake at the mental image.

“So, about the cake!” Tachikawa’s voice booms once again, startling Jin away from his indecent thought. The young patisserie blinks rapidly, trying to cool down his heating up cheek at the mental image his treacherous mind has sketched for him.

With unnecessary details at that. He doesn’t know spun sugar can be used _that_ way.

_I hate myself_ , Jin berated himself mentally. Tsukimi is starting to ask him about the cakes he can make, and Jin, with utmost effort, brings his mind back from the gutter. Plastering a big (professional) grin on his face, he gestures toward the glass shelves where his cakes are on display. “Well, then, allow me to introduce you our finest creation.”

_‘To world’s best creation_ ’, almost slips out from his lips as Miwa - World’s Best Creation indeed - turns interested eyes on him.

Jin wishes Tachikawa-san would prolong his marriage just so Jin can spend more time with the boy - _man? -_ Who could pretty much be Aphrodite-incarnate.

He feels bad for even thinking. Just a little, though, definitely just a little.


	5. 3 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> domestic fluff. Miwa muses about his and Jin's relationship at 3 in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year! And here's hoping for more world trigger fanfic and Ashihara-sensei's recovery!

There are so many reasons to love someone and that may include finding them sprawled all over the floor, reeking of alcohol and missing the jacket you swore they wore the last time you saw them.

You’d find yourself thanking God when you realized the jacket he’s missing is the cheap one he bought from bargain sale, not the one that got you cringing at the amount of zero on the price tag.

Then you’d find yourself thanking God again, that despite how much you hate the sight of him going home this late in the morning, too drunk to even make it to his (your) bed, he is not missing a limb, he’s not hurt anywhere, and he is still alive, still breathing. He will still wake up in the morning, breathe probably smelling foul, and greets you _good morning_ with smile much more blinding than the rising sun.

You approach him, soft feet making equally soft sound against the wooden floor. You stop when your toes are just barely touching the top of his head; rich, chocolate brown painting streaks on soft-caramel.

Your peers down on him, watching as his body rises and fall with each expands of his lungs. His moth is slightly opened, a thin strip of saliva on his chin. His eyes are closed, blissfully unaware of your watching eyes. You ache for the loss of bright, startling blue. But at the same time, you’re glad because then you notice the shaded, tender skin under his eyes, and you’re reminded of how hard he’s been working himself lately.

He never breaks down in front of anyone. Anyone but you; because you are his safe haven as much as he is yours.

Everyone always said you relationship with is unhealthy one. When two workaholics are in relationship, they can either sail well with how much they understand each other’s need for constant productivity, or they sink; because both parties are too immersed in their own works that they lack communication, or forgetting they’re supposed to take of each other.

Unfortunately, you and him lean more toward the later type. Communication has never been a problem. He knows you’re not the best at expressing your emotion, and he has no problem being in clingy one in relationship. The _problem_ is both of you are so focused in your works, too in love with the heavy weight called ‘responsibility’. You understand how addictive it could be, so whenever you’re about to tell him to take a break, you found yourself unable to, remembering the many times you had ignored his similar call.

“You’re ruining each other,” was what Kazama told you.

You didn’t say the ‘I know’ that’s been typed out in your head. Instead, you said, “it’s up to us whether we’re running each other or not.”

You respect Kazama with your life, but the spike of anger that had flared in your chest is, in your opinion, justified. The relationship is yours and him, if there was anyone who can speak about it, it’s both of you and no one else. Not even Kazama. They don’t know you and him. What they know is just what you and him let them see; the cover of the book. It might look ugly outside, horrible and unreasonable.

You acknowledge it at least that some aspect of your relationship with him is not exactly ‘healthy’- like this; when you’re letting him coming back home at three in the morning without telling you prior. For some other, it could mean a sign of disrespect. He lives with you and he’s supposed to tell you, not because he owes you anything but simply for the fact that you two are living together.

However, you didn’t mind it. This doesn’t hurt you one bit as he had done things that was much more hurtful to you in the past. If he wants to come home late, let him be. This way, he wouldn’t say anything if you decided to the same. _The more freedom the better,_ you remember he had told you and how you had agreed. Isn’t this why you started this relationship with him; because he’s convenient?

He stirs in his sleep, face scrunched, and for a moment, you think he’d wake up. But he doesn’t, he continues to sleep, hiding away the rich azure you suddenly find missing.

And suddenly you find that maybe you don’t do this because he’s convenient, but for a fact as simple as irrevocable as that you love him. Even if your relationship is not healthy, even if with him, you ended up with less sleep and more take-out food because of busy schedule; you love him.

And it is in his arms that you find peace. It is in his words you find strength. It is in his love; that is as liberating as it is restraining, that you find yourself once again.

He doesn’t try to stop you from being you, doesn’t try to fix you, doesn’t try to guide you, but he’s there; always there whenever you need someone to do all of them. Always there, with a sky compressed within his eyes and smile that glows gently like the moon in the night sky. Always there, with arms open wide, accepting, waiting, ready to wipe away your sweat and blood, before pushing you again to move forward.

When everyone told you to ‘stop’, he’d told you to ‘hang on’. When everyone told you ‘you’re pushing yourself too hard’, he’d told you to ‘go on, just a little more’.

And that’s exactly what you need, just like how he needs someone to do the same for him. You two are more alike than people thought you are. Not a same story but a same trope; what runs in his blood is what runs in you, what he needs is what you do.

Love it might not be for others, love it is for the two of you. And that is enough, more than enough even. In this world that is too cruel that the two of you have become unable to love but like this, to find each other is a salvation in its own.

Even if he won’t be here to welcome you home.

Even if you won’t be there either when he wakes up.

You love him, still, just like how he loves you. Suddenly all you want to do is making certain of that warmth, to chase away the brewing loneliness.

“Jin,” softy, you call him.

And just as softly, he opens his eyes, lashes fluttering like butterfly wings, sending ripples of affection in the pool of your heart.

“Jin,” you call him again, and this time, you kneel down so your face is in his arm-length. “You smell.”

“Shuuji?” he reaches one arm up, drunken fingertips shakily making their way to your cheeks. “You’re warm,” he says with sleepy smile once they have found your skin.

You curled your fingers around his wrist, “and you’re cold. Let’s get  you to bed, you’re blocking the way.”

“Not because I’m cold?”

“That too,” you reply without letting go of his hand, “if you catch a cold, I’m not taking care of you.”

“So cruel,” he laughs.

“Shut up and let’s get moving,” despite your words, you are not moving at all. He knows this, so he smiles, all sleep-mused and soft on the edges.

“You can be the evil witch and I will still love you, though.”

This time, you actually move. Standing up, you pull on both his arms in attempt to drag him through the floor, “shut up and move or I will drag you like this.”

He – Jin – laughs again. Music at three in the morning. You do not blush; you _do not_ , but, _okay_ , maybe you do, because Jin’s eyes are getting brighter in intensity and he grins so wide that his teeth is all you can see on his face.

“Whatever,” You let go of his hands harshly, turning away and stomp back inside the room, definitely _not_ fuming.

When you almost reach the door of your bed room, you can hear him say, “I will still love you, I swear.”

You open the door, thinking that there really are so many reasons to love someone, even if he’s still capable of teasing you at three am in the morning despite being piss-drunk and is not sober enough to make his way safely to the room without knocking on the furniture.

After the third yelp, you decided maybe it’s wiser to help Jin before he ruin the whole apartment.


	6. The Gym (of love)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arafune and Hokari. Meet-cute(?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love 18-y0 so much. Who's with me?

Hokari is beautiful man.

Beautiful man with beautiful liquid-onyx for eyes, and sun-kissed, caramel-golden skin. His words are just as beautiful – even if he is not really a man of words and speaks in that uniquely endearing reverse of his, Arafune believes Hokari is articulate as a poet.

And his deltoids, _damn_ , that’s what you call deltoids, Arafune muses with mouth half-hanging open.

To put it simply, Arafune has silly crush for Hokari Atsushi who just joined their gym a little while ago. And this crush is different with the one he has for their trainer; Kizaki Reiji, because when Kizaki just makes him dreamily, Hokari makes Arafune’s well-trained posterior wobble like watery jelly, and he suddenly just want to have Hokari’s baby right here and there.

Kageura said it’s disgusting. Murakami said it’s cute. Touma and Inukai just laughed until they had stomach cramps, and Arafune laughed back at them smugly.

Hokari is beautiful man, with beautiful deltoids, and equally beautiful quadriceps, and _damn_ those well-defined obliques should be enough to put Hokari in jail.

“You know Kizaki-san would kill you if you drool on his equipment, right?” Murakami tries to warn him warily while simultaneously attempting to close Arafune’s mouth by covering it with his sweat-soaked towel.

Arafune wishes the towel is damp with Hokari’s sweat. Not that he would tell anyone.

Arafune then starts wondering how does Hokari’s sweat smell as he absent-mindedly adjusts the weight of his shoulder press when a shadow falls over him, and a deep, velvety rich baritone voice reaches him.

“Hello.”

The brunette freezes and drops the 5 kgs weight, causing a loud _clang_ resounding throughout the gym, sending it into a dead silence. He can also feel all eyes are falling on him, but all them weights nothing compared to a heated one that’s burning a hole at the back of his nape because he knows to whom that voice belongs to.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” the owner of the voice aka. The man who should be illegally banned from wearing a black tank top because of his bulging deltoids and beautifully carved pectorals, gasps.

Arafune thanks heaven, and maybe hell too, and his mother and father, for letting him actually freeze  in standing position instead of melting all over the floor, because, really, that voice has the ability to undo years of religious body-building training he had done.

“Oka? Are you?” The voice gets closer and Arafune chooses the moment to unbind himself from the freeze spell.

He turns around, and has seemingly miscalculated their distance because he doesn’t even have to turn his face more than ninety degrees to find Hokari Atsushi’s black coal of eyes. They’re so dark, like his hair, like abyss and if this is how staring into abyss feels like, Arafune doesn’t mind staring at it forever because they just draws him in and at this moment he literally wants to be _in_ Hokari Atsushi, because – _whoa_ , he smells so _damn_ good despite the sheen of sweat that’s blanketing his skin.

“Umm,” Hokari says again.

“Umm,” Arafune echoes.

“God, spare me,” Kageura moans from somewhere around the treadmill area, and Arafune registers Touma’s cackle, followed by Inukai’s catcalling. He makes mental note to accidentally kick them in body-fight, but that can be saved for later because he is now too busy reveling being this close to the love of his life. Well, his _silly crush_ developed that quickly.

“I’m okay,” Arafune says then, still staring at Hokari’s seemingly bottomless pit of ocean black.

“To heard that, it’s a relief.” Hokari smiles, earnestly grateful, and Arafune feels like a a dick because here is Hokari genuinely concerned for him while he’s busy ogling. By the way, Arafune thanks heaven and hell once again for his wise decision of wearing the baggiest of his pants this morning because a certain lower anatomy of his is getting way too excited.

Can you blame him, though, Hokari Atsushi is probably carved by the hands of God himself. He is as sinful as he is blessing.

Arafune’s brain finally finds a semblance of control to act _normal_ instead of gawking at Hokari like he is an art on museum, they’re still literally nose to nose though because Hokari is not pulling away and Arafune thinks if Hokari doesn’t, then maybe he should not as well.

“Is there anything you need?”

Hokari’s eyes flit to Arafune’s lips. Arafune’s legs wobble; he swears it’s not his imagination even though Kageura would probably insist he’s too whipped to the point of delusional. “Can I use this first? To catch in an hour, I have an appointment.”

Arafune follows Hokari’s hyponotizing eyes as they trail to the shoulder press. “Use this- oh, yeah! Sure, go ahead! I still have like, hours or so here, and I can just use-“

He’s painfully aware of how foolish he sounds like, stuttering like this, but then Hokari smiles like he invents smiling itself, and Arafune is done. So done with his life, he wants to bail out or something, because this is too much for him and his well-trained posteriors, and he wonders if Reiji has a menu that can make your heart stop running miles per seconds when the man in your dream is smiling like _that_ while smelling like _that_.

“Thank you. That means a lot for me.”

The brunette almost blurts out; _you mean a lot for me, too!_ But his intelligence decides it really is time to hit home, so Arafune says instead, “anytime, man.” And draws back from the machine, but before he can step any further, Hokari suddenly says again.

“Something else, I still need.”

Arafune pauses, blinking at the poker-face that has returned to Hokari’s face like his smile is just a figment of Arafune’s whipped brain. “Yeah?”

And when Hokari speaks again, his voice is as firm as his chest – not that Arafune has touched it, but his chest cannot be anything but firm with how much it’s straining the material of his shirt, “Your number, I need it.”

Loud _bam_ that comes from the weight-lifting area, followed by hysterical laughter and painful yelp probably means Inukai has finally dropped his barbells, accidentally hitting Touma’s legs. Arafune distantly wishes it’s not serious, but it’s so distant like the length between sun and the already non-planet Pluto, so maybe he’s not really thinking about it at all.

Arafune seriously considers asking Reiji if he has that special training to make you withstand this kind of _fatigue_ , because he is _this_ close to actually falling to the floor. For the time being, however, he just lets himself fall deeper to Hokari Atsushi.


End file.
